


Candle

by azriona



Series: Advent Calendar Drabbles 2013 [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar Drabble, M/M, Other, Power Outage, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John swears, Lestrade talks, and Sherlock is less than helpful.  If it weren’t for the power outage in the middle of December, it’d be just like any other day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candle

**Author's Note:**

> The second installment of this year’s Advent Calendar Drabbles. Because I am lazy, I’m titling the drabbles with the prompt. Today’s prompt is from thesmallhobbit, who requested either Johnstrade or Sherstrade, and probably did not anticipate me combining the two. Be warned that this probably makes no sense whatsoever. Seriously, turning John and Sherlock into _moths_ makes more sense than this story.
> 
> Spaces still available; [please leave a prompt if you’d like](http://azriona.livejournal.com/853261.html)! (Also, my husband is likely to request Thomas the Train/Lightning McQueen, and if nothing else, you can do a good turn by saving me from that fate.)

The snow fell softly outside the windows, dusty grey in the weary sunlight. It collected on the sill, caught on the frosted panes, and when John looked out on the street, he saw Greg stamp his feet on the stoop below, trying to knock as much of it off his boots as he could manage before coming in. 

“Bollocks,” he muttered under his breath when he saw Greg’s empty hands, and a moment later, heard Greg on the stairs. 

“Nothing,” said Greg when he entered the room, and from the sofa, there was a snort, as if to deride either of them for believing the journey would result in any other discovery. “Every shop in the entire city is sold out. I couldn’t even find a matchstick.” 

“Bloody hell,” said John, and looked out the window, where the snow sill merrily accumulated on the sill. 

“I even tried the newsagent’s. Newspapers, you know. Burn quick, but at least burn. Nothing. They even sold every last copy of the Mail.” 

A snicker from the sofa. John banged his head against the windowpane. 

“And I rang my contacts at the electric company. The snow’s bollocksed up the roads and the proper equipment needed to fix the generators won’t be in until noon tomorrow. The whole of bloody London is out of power for at least another 24 hours.” 

John thought wistfully of a thick, orange shock blanket, and immediately dismissed the idea. 

“Might as well be Armageddon out there,” grumbled Greg. “Except with ice, not fire. And once the sun goes down, we’ll be in the dark as well as cold. If only _someone_ hadn’t burned every last candle in the flat because of a stupid experiment.” 

A withering sigh from the sofa. 

“Fine, it caught me a serial murder, two kidnappers, and a rapist,” snapped Greg. “The thought of them shivering in their cells tonight is sure to keep me warm, ta.” 

The sofa was quiet. John wrapped his jumper closer around himself, already feeling the cold seep into his bones. 

“Bugger,” muttered John, breathing onto his fingers in a futile attempt to keep warm. 

“There is, of course,” said Sherlock to the back of the sofa, “a way that we could remain warm over the next 24 hours. If not well-lit.” 

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” said Greg. “Do tell.” 

“Why should I? It was John’s idea.” 

The snow continued to fall. 

“Bugger,” repeated John, a bit dazed. It might have been a question. 

The flat was silent. 

“Well,” said Greg finally. “I vote Sherlock goes first, since he was the wanker who used every last candle in London.” 

* 

Twenty hours later, the power came back on. 

“Huh,” said Greg from the middle of the bed, where he huddled naked – but not particularly cold – under every blanket in the house. The fact that he was pleasantly warm had nothing to do with the number of blankets on top of him. “Power came back earlier than anticipated.” 

“Mmm,” said Sherlock, face down in the pillows, snuggled squarely next to Greg, pointedly not sleeping. 

“Wasn’t so bad,” continued Greg. “Might be willing to do that again sometime. Probably take a while for the heat to really kick in, you know.” 

“Wanker,” said John, fondly, poking him in the ribs. 

“Still, would have liked a candle or two,” said Greg. “For atmosphere.” 

“Oh, _atmosphere_ ,” said Sherlock into the pillow, and he moved to open the bedside drawer, and reaching it, pulled out a candle. 

Greg and John stared at in him shock. 

“You sodding bastard,” said John finally, and Sherlock smiled.


End file.
